Tell Me You Need Me 1
by wrldpossibility
Summary: Inspired by 4.07, Cops and Robbers, this is an added scene between Beckett asking Castle for a drink and the two of them showing up at his loft. You'll need to have seen that ep before reading.
1. Chapter 1

"Tell me you need me," he'd said, and after only the briefest moment of hesitation, she'd followed standard Kate Beckett protocol: guard up, deflect, and quip. Store it away, and stew about it later.

It was later.

She stood in front of the bank of sinks in the center of women's restroom of the 20th, running her hands under the hot tap water in a vain attempt to scrub away the sweat and soot of the day. Also? Trying to decide whether social graces dictated she stop by her apartment for a change of clothes before attending a Martha-hosted thank-god-you're-alive family dinner. Cognizant of the fact that Castle was holding a cab downstairs, she decided what she was wearing would have to do: she saw no point in dressing up, and supposed casual was out of the question as well; she'd left _casual_ back in the bank vault, adopting anything but as she'd laid eyes on Rick, sitting there amid the debris of the bomb, breathing and unscathed and smiling and did she mention _breathing_? as she smiled back at him like he was the only hostage in the room.

_Tell me you need me._

Running meter or not, she wasn't ready to go. And she wasn't ready for company; she was fairly certain she was the last person on the homicide floor, but on impulse, Kate crossed to the restroom door handle and locked it. Upon _further_ impulse, she tugged her hair out of its knot and pinned it back to fall around her face. She surveyed the result in the mirror, satisfied that it said 'woman' more than 'cop'. She had every intention of burying that one to analyze later too, but instead, it claimed immediate purchase somewhere in the vicinity of her chest and held her-rooted-in place, and she stared like a deer in headlights at her reflection in the mirror. Before she had time to evade the sudden lump swelling in her throat, her eyes brimmed and then her shoulders began to shake and to her horror, she found herself fighting back the first hard sob.

_Tell me you need me._

In Kate's line of work, job stress tended to find its release any way it could, and tonight, it was going to empty itself out under the fluorescent glare of the fourth floor Ladies'. She leaned her elbows against the counter of the sink, giving in to the tears, then excused her legs from their duties altogether, sliding her back down the adjacent wall until she was sitting, knees bent to her chest, head in her hands. She cried until her abdominal muscles ached, and then she cried some more. At one point, her phone buzzed against her thigh where it lay buried in the pocket of her pants, and she knew it was Castle waiting at street level, wondering what was taking her so long. With a pang of guilt, she let it go to voicemail, and after the ping of the beep, his muffled voice emitted through the fabric of her jeans.

"Hey, it's me. Everything alright?" A pause. "Ok, well, I'm giving you five, then coming back up. In case it's slipped your mind, my mother isn't a woman to be kept waiting."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, but didn't rise from the floor. Instead she brought her hands up to her temples and rubbed, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling, as her therapist had shown her. In. Out. In. Out.

_Tell me you need me._

She tried to clear her mind, think only of each rise and fall of her chest, empty her head of anything but white noise and a blank screen, just as she'd been taught, but instead, it played back the events of the day at double-time. (Note to self: this never worked.) She saw the bank doors, the yellow police tape, the interior of the hostage negotiation command unit, remembering how it smelled like stale coffee and sweat and the plastic of Kevlar. She heard Castle's voice in her ear, then Trapper John's, and she relived the weight of every word out of her mouth and the pressure that had threated to crush her as she took command of a job she hadn't trained for and wasn't prepared for, but was expected to perform like her life depended upon it.

Because it did.

The reality of how close she'd come to...how it would have been her fault if...settled over her like a blanket, the unfairness of it all impossible to shake. The tears returned on a slide of confusion and sorrow and, yes, self-pity, and she couldn't have said how long she sat there, but apparently, it was longer than five minutes. There was a knock on the restroom door just as her phone buzzed again. Like last time, it went straight to voicemail before she could fish it out of her pocket, and Castle sounded less accommodating as his voice broadcasted through both the door and the phone simultaneously. "Kate? You in there? Is this locked?"

She sat up straight, brushing a hand hastily across her wet face.

_Tell me you need me._

"I'm at the door, and you've left me with no choice: I'm going to have to break it down."

"Wait! Castle!" She was on her feet in an instant, finally managing to free her phone, but before she had made it halfway across the bathroom, she heard the unmistakable, heavy _THUMP_ against the door that told her he hadn't listened.

The sounds was followed by a deep groan chased by a "Son of a _bitch_ that hurts!" and the laugh was out of her mouth before she could check it, echoing off the institutional tile. She turned the lock and swung open the door in time to dodge Castle's second attempt at throwing himself through it, and he stumbled past her, his momentum carrying him into the wall of a stall. He caught himself, and stood there, panting, as he eyed her. "What are you doing?"

"What am _I_-what are _you_ doing?"

He righted himself, rubbing his arm as he turned to her. "I think I dislocated my shoulder. Tell me there's a technique for-" His words did a 180 as he looked her over for the first time since making his entrance. "What's wrong?"

His sober concern drained her of her momentary mirth, and instantly, the full weight of the day was back. "I..." She lifted a hand to her face, self-consciously assessing the damage of her crying gag, then stared at him as wordlessly and helplessly as she had over the gurney of the supposedly seizure-racked Sal. He stared back, just as he had then, and when he cleared his throat to speak, she had meant to blow it off, like she blows off so many of their moments that fly too close to the sun. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, "I'm sorry, I'm ready to go," but what came out instead was, "Can I just…?" and then she was wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him to her hard enough to elicit another soft groan.

He folded his arms around her in return, pressing her face to the lapel of his coat, encircling her in solid Castle warmth and strength and (she's guessing here) Clive Christain for Men, and for the first time all day, she could breathe. She tightened her hold on him, uncaring about the hour or the door standing ajar or even what he'd make of this, later, when her squeeze on his diaphragm permitted speech. They remained locked in their embrace, Kate's entire body humming, until he made another low sound reticent of a purr, and she breathed a laugh into the crook of his neck.

She pulled back, gave her eyes another quick swipe, and gestured to him to lead the way back downstairs. To his credit, he didn't ask any pointed questions or feign ignorant surprise. He didn't press her or comfort her. He just settled his arm over her shoulder and drew her closer as they walked toward the elevator, and when they reached the doors, he turned her to look at him. "Thank you," he said.

_Tell me you need me._

Her face broke out in that smile again, the one she knew displayed so much transparent want, then she busied herself pressing the down button. "Yeah, well, Castle, I needed that."


	2. Chapter 2

"_How__are__you?__"_ she'd asked, but it hardly took much effort to see she'd meant something else entirely. Her eyes had sought his with wide-open, full-speed-ahead honesty, the smile on her face sending him reeling. Without their usual wall, the unobstructed view was dizzying.

Now, Castle opened the door to his loft and allowed Beckett entry before him. Naturally, his mother was there to accost her, folding Kate into her arms with her customary wail of exuberance. As he stood back to make way, he couldn't stifle a smile of appreciation.

It wasn't just the rear view of Kate in her-his-favorite jeans, though that was treat enough. It was the idea of the open-armed welcome, the hint of the promise of Kate and Martha as allies that literally warmed him; he shrugged out of his coat at the door as he stepped around them to find Alexis.

Later, around a dinner table laden with duck l'orange, scalloped potatoes, French green beans with slivered almonds, and lemon meringue, the conversation was giddily light, but from Kate's corner, Castle still felt the occasional weight of her gaze. He kept catching her at it: sneaking looks his way saturated with that same open appreciation that, had he been putting pen to paper, he'd have been tempted to describe as 'tender', or no, that was too mellow: maybe, dare he say, 'adoring'? Too sappy. Perhaps...perhaps she was just relieved. He frowned down at his duck sauce.

_How are you?_

Eventually, their punch-drunk banter gained intensity. Alexis requested a play-by-play of the afternoon, which Martha, never one to dodge a spotlight, delivered with dramatic flair. Soon enough, the lightning-quick questions turned Kate's way:

_Had you had training as a hostage negotiator? _

_Did you break Dad's Morse code right away?_

_How did you know what to do as an EMT?_

_When the mercenary held that gun to Richard's head, what on earth made you say—_

"That's enough, Mother." Across the table from him, a shadow had fallen over Kate's face.

Upon further reflection, she looked more battle-worn than he'd seen her in a long time (and he'd just seen her tear-streaked in the middle of a restroom). Truth be told, they were all a little worse for the wear: beside him, Alexis was rubbing her temples, and even he felt suddenly drained of energy. "I think we'll all a bit emotionally spent."

Kate shot him a grateful look before rising to clear the dishes. He joined her at the kitchen sink as his mother made herself scarce (at least she knew when to make an exit) and Alexis retreated to her bedroom.

_How are you?_

She glanced over at him apologetically before taking a roasting pan from his hands and filling it with water to soak. "You're all so animated, Castle, so…" she lifted her soapy hands in question as she searched for the right description. "Full of joie de vivre," she finished. "Sometimes I just…" A frown. "Need a moment to process it all."

"I'm sorry. We get carried away, I know."

She gave him a small smile, and when she returned her concentration to the sink, he watched her reflection in the glass of the convection oven, still not confident, after all this time, in his ability to read her. She looked fatigued, no doubt about it, but a hint of her earlier exuberance still colored her cheeks. He took a chance.

Stepping close behind her, he rested his chin on her shoulder while reaching around her to fish her hands out of the warm water. She let out a tired breath of a laugh, but didn't pull away. She stilled, stiffening, yes, but allowed him to guide her hands—folded in his own to keep them from dripping—to the dishtowel on the counter to dry them. "Come sit down with me," he said.

She followed him to the oversized couch across from the glass-enclosed fireplace, but he noted that the customary caution, chased away by the events of the day, had returned to her eyes. He gave her half a cushion more space than he'd planned.

Tucking her feet up against the end of the couch, she leaned back into the cream throw pillows and smiled yet again at him, nearly a full-bodied ghost of the one in the bank vault. "When I saw you sitting there, Castle…" she shook her head, still smiling. "I could have kissed you."

He didn't smile back. He didn't crack a joke. He didn't deflect. He was over all that, and wanted her to know it. She got the message quick; the curve of her smile left her lips, and she was caught, staring at him silently, as his eyes locked on hers. "I could have kissed you, too," he told her softly, and hand-to-god, he actually saw the quiver go down her spine.

She swallowed and sat up straighter, telegraphing anxiety. "But enough about that," he said, and then he did allow his lips to quirk up at the corners, letting her off the hook as quickly as he had caught her there. "Tell me more about this fascinating paperwork you speak of."

She chuckled. "Oh, you'd love it, Castle. So full of intrigue and suspense. It's very sexy."

"I do like sexy."

She buried her face in her glass of pinot noir; all he heard was a pointed "hmm" before her phone buzzed, prompting her to set her glass down to retrieve it. She glanced at the screen, then tucked it to her ear while offering, "My dad. Must have seen the news."

_How are you?_

Castle made a show of disgruntlement. "I see you pick up for some people."

She made a shushing motion with the hand that had set down the wine glass. "Hey, Dad. Yeah, don't worry." In the pause that followed, her face softened still further in the yellow light of the fireplace. Across the arm of the couch, she caught Castle's eye again, and the word he was looking for still tugged. Admiration? Affection? He knew what he wanted to call it, what he _would_ call it, without hesitation, were he but a impartial spectator in this particular-

"Everyone's alright," she said, and he stuffed his suspicions away to watch her nod into the phone again. Her eyes were still locked on his as she answered her father's last question with a sobering finality that left no room for doubt.

"I promise," she said. "I'm fine."


End file.
